November 15th.

"What is the meaning of life?"
You ask,
as if it is so simple,
as if the answer will be given to you on a platter
wrapped in red ribbon.

The answer,
however,
is so blindingly inconvenient
that you can hardly process
what any of it means;

You spend so long searching
it devours you
and takes everything you held with it.

Someday you'll come back to the chaos you recall
and sniff indignantly at it
and the thoughts it made you think
and what it felt like to feel

and perhaps you'll ask yourself:

"What is the meaning of me?"

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